


Blood Moon

by alicedragons



Series: Tales of the Night [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (Not really gore it's mostly just blood and magic), Argent Night Universe, Brothels, Implied Death, M/M, Medieval AU, Mild Gore, Non-Explicit Sex, Painful Sex, Panic Attacks, Penetrative Rape, Prostitution, Vampire AU, Violence, non-consensual biting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-18 18:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicedragons/pseuds/alicedragons
Summary: Sometimes, to understand the present, we must first look at the past.But the past is not always a pleasant place, and some stories are best left unspoken.Unfortunately, this one must be told.____________________________________A background fic to 'Argent Night'.Warning: this is highly unpleasant. Please read the tags before venturing forth.





	1. Reborn

**Author's Note:**

> A shorter fic detailing a bit of Rus's past--particularly focusing on how he became a vampire, and the few years following his transformation.  
> Please be advised - this fic contains **graphic rape** , in addition to a few other mildly disturbing themes. Please do not read this if it's not something you're comfortable with. The reading of this fic is not necessary to a complete understanding of the events of Argent Night.  
> If anything, I just needed to get this off my chest as a sort of character study for Rus. (Damn it. This poor boy.)
> 
> Chapter two does not contain non-con, and can act as a standalone if you'd prefer to skip this chapter. However, it will still deal with some uncomfortable themes (death, anxiety, mild coercion). Overall though, it is a lot tamer and more comforting than this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> **Detailed trigger warnings are in the end notes.**

Papyrus pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders as a chill breeze stirred the night air, swaying the long grass of the open fields that stretched for miles around him. Creeping shadows and dark, lifeless shapes loomed over the rocky pathway, and he kept his head bowed, trying to ignore the feeling of watchful eyes on his back. The gnarled branches of the scattered barren trees creaked in the wind, and Papyrus shuddered. He began to walk a little faster, unsettled by the eerily quiet night. The dim glow ahead promised a warm fire and a hearty meal, and Papyrus was more than eager to escape the desolate wilderness of the Ruins.

In the distance, beyond the small cottage shrouded in a grove of decaying trees, cold silver moonlight touched the peaks of pale mountains. By the time Papyrus reached the small garden that encased the cottage, he was shivering—both from the cold bite of winter and the deadly fright of the darkness.

The curtains had been drawn over the cottage’s windows, but Papyrus could see a golden light filtering through the seams that promised warmth. He knocked softly on the heavy wooden door, before curling back in on himself, his bones rattling.

The door opened almost immediately, and Papyrus felt some of the tension leave him at the sight of the large figure standing on the threshold. “asgore,” he breathed in relief, grinning up at the enormous, furry monster through the chattering of his teeth. “h-hey.”

Asgore seemed stunned for a moment. “Papyrus? I wasn’t…” But gathering himself, his face broke into a wide smile. Unexpectedly, he wrapped his arms around Papyrus, enveloping him in a crushing hug. Papyrus squirmed a little as he was pulled against Asgore’s chest. “How wonderful of you to come! If I had known, I would have made preparations. It’s been so long since…” He trailed off, quickly shaking his head. “Listen to me rambling! You must be freezing. Please, come in. I’ll make you some tea.”

Asgore guided Papyrus inside, his large arm still wrapped around his shoulders. Papyrus was greeted by the warmth of a crackling fire in the hearth, and the smell of fresh mint leaves stewing in a pot on the stove. He glanced up at Asgore. “sorry, am i… interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all,” Asgore assured him. “I’ll always have time for you, Papyrus. Always. Here, take a seat, I’ll bring your tea to you—oh, and can I get you a blanket? You’re still shivering!”

Papyrus smiled, but shook his head. “there’s no need. thank you, asgore.”

“Are you certain?” Asgore probed. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Laughing softly, Papyrus gave another shake of his head. “really—i’m fine.”

“Well, if you insist… I’d better get your tea brewing. I won’t be long!” Asgore wandered into the kitchen, still muttering to himself. Sitting on the large sofa in front of the fireplace, Papyrus pulled his knees to his chest, letting his eye sockets fall closed. The warmth of the fire made his bones tingle pleasantly, expelling the lingering chill of the night air outside. He could hear Asgore bustling around in the kitchen, the sound accompanied by the chink of porcelain crockery.

Papyrus had been a little nervous about visiting Asgore again. It had been months since he’d last made the long journey from Snowdin to the Ruins, and part of him had feared Asgore had forgotten him.

But now that he was here, it felt like being home. He and Asgore had been friends for years, and Papyrus had long held a special fondness for the strange hermit. There was widespread belief through the kingdom that no one lived in the Ruins—but for small, insignificant scavengers among the rocks and in the mountains. But here Asgore dwelled—alone in his quaint cottage. Papyrus had been quite surprised when he’d stumbled upon it—but he was thankful he had. Asgore was a dear friend.

When Asgore re-entered the room, he was carrying a tray holding a steaming floral teapot, and a warm mug. He placed them on the table in front of Papyrus. “Oh no—don’t worry yourself,” he said quickly, as Papyrus reached for the teapot. “I’ll do it for you.”

“oh—uh, thank you,” Papyrus said, leaning back. Asgore beamed at him as he poured his tea. Handing him the mug, he sat beside him on the sofa, watching closely as he sipped it.

“How does it taste?” he asked eagerly, his crimson eyes bright.

“great,” Papyrus said, grinning. “mint? and…?”

“Honeysuckle,” Asgore told him proudly. Papyrus blinked, and Asgore laughed. “I know how fond you are of sweet things—I’ve had it sitting in my pantry for months.”

“that’s… awfully kind of you,” Papyrus said, taking another long sip from his mug. The warm liquid travelled through his bones, quenching the cold ache the journey had left. He sighed, sinking back into the soft cushions of the sofa. “so, how have you been?” he asked. “i—i’m sorry it’s been so long since i’ve visited. my brother…”

Asgore waved him off, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s no need for that, Papyrus. I’m only glad you’re here now. I have truly missed you, my dear friend.”

Much to Papyrus’ surprise, Asgore leaned close, looping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him against his side. Beneath his thick robe, Papyrus could feel the hardened muscle of Asgore’s body. Strangely, he emitted no warmth. But his embrace was comforting nonetheless, and Papyrus leaned into the touch, an involuntary hum of contentment building in his chest.

He remained beneath Asgore’s tender hold as he drank his tea, nothing breaking the silence between them but the crackle of the warm fire, and the howl of the wind outside. Papyrus could feel himself slowly drifting into a pleasant doze, the warm mug of tea resting on his lap. He’d been certain Asgore had fallen asleep too, until he interrupted the silence by asking, “Are you alright, Papyrus? Are you warm enough? Can I get you anything to eat?”

“don’t bother yourself,” Papyrus said softly, snuggling closer to Asgore. Something pleasant blossomed in his chest as Asgore rumbled softly, holding him tighter. “this… this is nice,” Papyrus whispered.

Asgore murmured his agreement, pressing his muzzle to the crown of Papyrus’ skull. Papyrus could feel his warm breaths against the bone, shivering as he dipped his head and pressed his mouth into the nape of Papyrus’ neck. His soul fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nerves, Papyrus went still, swallowing. “You smell good,” Asgore purred, his voice barely audible above the crackling fire. “You _are_ good, Papyrus… so good…”

Papyrus could feel his face heating at Asgore’s words, magic rising to his cheekbones. He couldn’t hide his small smile, lowering his gaze as Asgore pressed himself closer. “It’s always wonderful having you here,” Asgore went on. “Stars, I’ve missed you, Papyrus. I’ve missed you so much.” His voice had taken on an almost guttural edge, and his breathing had become heavy.

Papyrus was still holding his mug of tea—it seemed to be the only thing preventing their bodies from being flush against each other. Asgore had Papyrus pressed against the sofa’s arm, and he was leaning over him with no room for personal space.

Papyrus was almost inclined not to mind—but the press of Asgore’s mouth against his neck drew him to a halt. “a-asgore—maybe we should slow down. i’m not sure if—” Papyrus broke off with a gasp as he felt something wet slide across his cervical vertebrae. Asgore grunted softly, cupping Papyrus’ skull in one of his large paws.

“Oh, you’re so sweet, Papyrus,” he murmured, his face still buried in Papyrus’ neck. “You’re _perfect._ ”

Papyrus laughed softly, though the sound was tainted with a hint of anxiety. He attempted to shift away from Asgore, but the large monster had him trapped in his arms, his grip gentle, but tight around Papyrus’ back. “asgore, i—” Papyrus’ breath hitched as Asgore’s tongue caught on a sensitive notch of bone. “i think this m-might be too much. i—i don’t…”

Asgore hushed him, drawing back slightly to look at Papyrus. The red of his eyes seemed somehow brighter, and he wore a heated expression. Carefully, he pried Papyrus’ mug from his shaking hands, placing it on the table beside them. He ran his thumb over Papyrus’ jaw, cupping his face in his large hand. “It’s alright,” he whispered, sliding a hand beneath Papyrus’ legs to lift them onto the sofa. “It’s okay, you have nothing to worry about.”

Asgore dipped his head again, resuming his gentle laving of Papyrus’ neck. Papyrus, now completely pinned beneath Asgore’s body, began to panic a little. He attempted to push Asgore away, but Asgore barely seemed to notice. “asgore,” he whispered, a hint of urgency creeping into his voice. “i don’t think we should… i mean—this is nice—but i’m not sure if i’m ready t-to…”

“Relax,” Asgore breathed, his sharp canines catching on Papyrus’ vertebrae. “I’ll be gentle, Papyrus—don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

Papyrus started to struggle, writhing beneath Asgore desperately—but in vain. Asgore wouldn’t budge. “w-wait! please, asgore. i don’t—”

“Quiet, dear,” Asgore growled softly, running his thumb over Papyrus’ cheekbone. “Now, this may hurt a bit—but it’ll only be for a bit, I promise.” He leaned in again, his teeth grating over Papyrus’ collarbone. “Goodness, you smell nice—you smell _delicious._ It’s been so long since I’ve—” Asgore broke off, inhaling deeply. “Try to relax, my love. It’ll make it a lot less painful.”

Before Papyrus could even begin to question what Asgore meant, an abrupt, crippling pain lanced through his neck. He tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by Asgore’s large paw pressing over his mouth. As Asgore’s fangs pierced his bone, a sickening crack echoed off the walls of the small room, and Papyrus squirmed, fruitlessly trying to pry him off.

 _‘stop,_ ’ he tried to say, but no sound but a stifled gurgling escaped him. He could feel something wet oozing down his neck, accompanied by more pain as Asgore changed the angle of his bite, sinking his teeth deeper into the bone.

Asgore groaned softly as he drank the magic leaking from the throbbing wound at Papyrus’ neck. He lifted Papyrus from the couch, enveloping him in his thickly muscled arms and holding him tightly against his solid chest. Papyrus’ struggles had already begun to weaken, his limbs growing heavy and slack. His whimpers were faint and his head ached as he lost more and more magic.

Just as he’d begun to slip into unconsciousness, Asgore released his neck, cradling his head as he withdrew. Through his clouded vision, Papyrus could see his own magic staining Asgore’s fangs (had they always been so _sharp_?). He choked out a whimper as Asgore leaned down to lick the spent magic from his neck, humming gently as his tongue pressed between Papyrus’ vertebrae. Sighing in satisfaction, Asgore closed his eyes—now a dull yellow. “Thank you, Papyrus,” he breathed.

Papyrus couldn’t move. His bones felt like they were made of lead, and his head felt as if it was full of sand—harsh and grating against the inside of his skull. He let out a hollow groan of protest as Asgore leaned down to kiss him. His tongue pressed into Papyrus’ empty mouth, finding every ridge of bone and soaking it in his saliva—mingled with Papyrus’ own magic. When he withdrew, he was smiling—the same smile he’d given Papyrus when he’d arrived on his doorstep not twenty minutes ago. The same smile he’d always given him.

Asgore wrapped his arms around Papyrus and hugged him to his chest. “Oh, Papyrus—that was amazing,” he whispered, exhaling in contentment. “Your magic is… it’s _perfect._ ” Asgore lifted Papyrus into his arms, carrying him across the room and into the passage. “Come. Let me clean you up. I’ll take care of you, my love. I’ll look after you.”

Papyrus was limp in Asgore’s arms, with no strength remaining in him to fight back. His mind was a haze of pain and horror, and he could still feel magic dripping from the wound at his neck. He groaned quietly as Asgore lowered him onto the bed, but his voice was weak and barely audible. He tried to sit up, but found himself virtually immobile.

The room was dark, and Papyrus could only make out Asgore’s silhouette above him. He was standing still, looking over Papyrus, as if in thought. Slowly, he moved his hand downward to rest on Papyrus’ hip. It was only when his touch shifted lower, that Papyrus realised his magic had manifested itself.

Mortified, he tried to speak—to argue, to protest, to _beg—_ but no words came out, only a soft, gargled moan. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Papyrus,” Asgore said, gently, tilting Papyrus’ chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. His yellow eyes were tender, and his smile was soft.

Papyrus felt sick.

“It’s a common reaction to a vampire bite—and my venom is quite potent.”

_Vampire bite?_

Horror struck Papyrus as quickly as panic did, and he began to sob—the sound leaving him as nothing more than weak, strained gasps. He tried to writhe out of Asgore’s grip as he rested his hand on Papyrus’ ilium, stroking Papyrus’ magic tenderly through his clothes. “It’s alright, hush now, I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry, Papyrus. I’ll take good care of you.”

Papyrus tried to shake his head, but he could barely move, the venom in his system draining every shred of his strength. He wished the bite had been enough to render him unconscious as well, but his mind seemed stuck firmly in the dull state between sleeping and waking—paralysed, but aware of every unwanted stimulus prickling across his bones.

Asgore carefully removed Papyrus’ pants to reveal the soft glow of his summoned cunt. He smoothed a finger over the folds, and Papyrus twitched. Asgore looked up at him, his eyes bright and smiling. “It’s lovely, Papyrus. It’s perfect.” He climbed onto the bed and knelt over Papyrus, unbuckling his pants. Papyrus groaned desperately, his words stuck in his throat. He felt helpless. Pathetic.

_Disgusting._

Through the faint light, Papyrus could see Asgore’s cock. It was huge. Far larger and far thicker than anything (or anyone) he’d ever experimented with. He whimpered brokenly as Asgore leaned over him, running his tongue over Papyrus’ parted teeth, and slowly dipping into his mouth. His cock rubbed lightly over Papyrus’ labia. Papyrus wanted to cry out—to plead with Asgore to stop. _It wasn’t going to fit._

It only occurred to him then—with Asgore bearing over him—how massive Asgore was. A beast of a monster—with arms like sturdy pillars, strong enough to crush Papyrus’ bones into dust. Papyrus could feel the solid muscles of Asgore’s chest through his shirt. He was taller than Papyrus too—and at least three times as wide.

Papyrus felt pathetic. Incapacitated or not, he was completely at Asgore’s mercy

Asgore lifted Papyrus’ legs, holding them over his shoulder with one hand. In the moments he took to line himself up, Papyrus began to cry, wet tears trailing down his cheeks without so much as a sob escaping him. Asgore’s yellow eyes fixed on Papyrus’ face, and he thrust in with a grunt.

Papyrus screamed.

Or at least, he tried to. All that left him was a faint choke—pained and hopelessly weak. His magic was dry, and the stretch of Asgore inside him _burned._ Pain shot through his pelvis as Asgore began to thrust, his movements punctuated by deep, rumbling growls. Papyrus felt like a ragdoll in Asgore’s arms, his body slack and useless as Asgore took him at a brutal pace. His magic felt as if it was going to tear, sharp jolts of agony wrenching his entire body.

Asgore moaned, holding Papyrus against him. “Oh—oh, Papyrus. Oh, you feel wonderful—you’re perfect, Papyrus—you’re _perfect._ ” His words were broken and heavy, carnal grunts leaving him with each vigorous thrust. His thick arms encased Papyrus’ body, their grip tight and crushing.

He halted for a moment, adjusting Papyrus so that he was seated on his lap, before he began to bounce him rigorously. Papyrus fell limp against his shoulder, his head hanging heavily against Asgore’s neck. Something wet trickled down his femur, but he had neither the fervour nor the desire to consider what it might be.

Outside, Papyrus could hear the rustling grass and the branches of the old trees creaking in the wind. Through the window, he could faintly make out the pale glow of moonlight kissing the tips of the faraway mountains. He could see shadows creeping across the windowpanes. He could almost feel the wind’s chill.

Inside, Papyrus could hear the rustling of sheets, and the creaking of bedsprings. He could hear Asgore’s animalistic grunts, along with the dull slap of skin on bone. He could feel Asgore’s tongue on his neck. He could feel the light touches of Asgore’s fingers over his spine. He could feel Asgore inside him, splitting him apart.

Papyrus barely noticed when Asgore sank his teeth into him again, fresh magic spilling onto the bedsheets and staining them a murky gold. The warm liquid seeped down Rus’s ribs and spine as Asgore drank. Papyrus’ entire body was engulfed in pain—dull, aching pain; sharp, piercing pain; cold, empty pain.

Asgore suddenly released a predatory growl, clinging to Papyrus until Papyrus thought he might break. Warmth flooded his cunt, and fresh tears fell from his eyes. Asgore moaned, whispering his name desperately as he held onto him, planting kisses down his cracked neck and collarbone.

“Stars, Papyrus—oh, Papyrus. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. Oh, thank you, Papyrus. Thank you.”

Papyrus prayed for the release of sleep, but his soul ran erratically in his chest, refusing to allow him to slip into unconsciousness. Asgore gently slipped out of him, and Papyrus felt something bitterly warm seeping from his stinging cunt. Looking down, he noticed a hint of red mingled with Asgore’s seed.

His own blood, he realised.

Carefully laying him down on the bed, Asgore tucked a pillow under Papyrus’ head, kissing every inch of him he seemed able to reach. Papyrus lay still and closed his eyes. He vaguely felt the bed moving as Asgore climbed off it, and heard him padding across the room. The sound of a door closing was followed by cold silence.

Even if Papyrus had been able to move, he wouldn’t have. The slick drip of magic down his neck and femurs left every bone in his body crawling. Everything ached, and his throat felt dry—despite the fact that he’d barely been able to make a sound the entire time. He heard a rattling sound that he took to be the wind at first—only to realise that it was his own bones, shaking.

His magic had yet to dispel itself, and Papyrus could still feel Asgore’s seed leaking out of it as it throbbed and twitched. The bites littering his neck and shoulders stung and itched, and his entire body ached from magic loss. He lay there, covered in filth and the salt of his own tears until Asgore returned.

He felt Asgore’s hands on his chest, resting there for a moment. His touch was tender and soft, his thumb stroking soft patterns over Papyrus’ sternum. Then he began to unbutton Papyrus’ shirt, until his ribs were bare, the chill of the night air weaving between them and making Papyrus shiver.

Papyrus wanted nothing more than to keep his eyes shut against whatever further defiling Asgore enacted upon him. He wanted to fall unconscious; to lose his sense of feeling; to disappear. But when Asgore moved to kneel over him again, Papyrus opened his eye sockets to look at him.

A sick bubble of nausea pulsed in his chest.

Asgore wore a gentle smile, his eyes bright yellow and tender. He cupped Papyrus’ face, stroking the tears away from his cheeks. “Summon your soul for me, Papyrus,” he ordered, quietly.

Papyrus stopped breathing, and his mind came to a screeching halt. He stared at Asgore, disbelieving. This… this was too far. _No._ He wouldn’t do this. _Surely—_

“Papyrus. I’d rather not have to do it for you—but I will.”

Papyrus tried to shake his head; tried to move; to scream; to fight; to do _anything_ that might put a stop to this. But he was helpless. His body was paralysed, and his words couldn’t form.

Sighing, Asgore lifted his hand, and Papyrus felt something sharp and cold wrenching at his chest. He choked sharply, the sound weak and strangled. His soul hovered above his ribcage, its glow dull.

Asgore stared at it, his gaze frighteningly intense. Something primal flickered in his eyes, and his hold was firm as he grasped Papyrus’ soul. Cold dread filled Papyrus as he stared at Asgore and his bones quaked violently. Tears seemed beyond him.

Asgore was no longer smiling—he barely even looked at Papyrus as he brought the soul to his face, breathing in the scent of it. Papyrus shivered at the touch of his cold breath on its surface. Asgore’s lips pulled back over his teeth, a snarl curling his muzzle. His fangs extended, dripping with vile saliva.

When Asgore’s teeth pierced the surface of Papyrus’ soul, a harsh jolt rocked Papyrus’ entire body. His back arched off the bed, and he screamed—this time, not even Asgore’s venom was enough to keep the sound sedated. The noise of his cries sounded foreign to him—like those of a wounded animal in the night. Papyrus writhed and fought, his body involuntarily twitching at odd angles.  The pain was white hot—and yet somehow freezing cold at the same time.

Magic sprayed from the delicate organ, leaking onto Papyrus’ ribs through Asgore’s teeth. Asgore seemed enraptured, his eyes closed as bliss overcame his features. He sunk his teeth deeper—deeper— _deeper._ Papyrus felt as if he might shatter. Blood and magic filled his mouth as his soul was drained, and he coughed and choked weakly.

As his soul slowly turned translucent, his struggles became faint and inconsistent, the strength seeping from his limbs. When at last his conscious mind caved to the pain, his body went still, and the world turned black around him.

 

****

 

The first thing Papyrus noticed when he awoke, was how cold he felt. He tried to wrap his arms around himself—only to find them pinned to his sides. Something large and heavy was pressed against his back, enveloping him tightly. He soon relinquished his struggles when he realised he would not be released any time soon.

It was only when his mind slowly regained its coordination that he became aware of the grating ache in his chest. His soul felt empty and raw—as if someone had taken a knife and scraped all the magic from it; and his bones felt dry and withered, lacking any true essence. He grunted softly in discomfort as the heavy arms tightened around him.

Something gruff rumbled against him, and Papyrus shuddered at the warm breaths on the back of his neck. “Good morning, Papyrus,” Asgore hummed.

Papyrus stilled, dread soaking his withered soul. Instinctively, he began to fight against Asgore’s hold, kicking and writhing in an attempt to escape. “Shh, it’s alright,” Asgore whispered, holding him steady. “Calm down, Papyrus. You’re alright, calm down.”

“y-you…” Papyrus swallowed and went limp, squeezing his sockets shut. “you killed me.” He choked on a sob, terror clutching his empty soul. He could still feel his own dry magic caking his neck and ribs—his body was covered in it. His soul throbbed desperately, a burning ache surging through his bones. “ah—i-it hurts,” he whimpered. “w-what did you do to me?”

Asgore hushed him gently, rubbing soft circles over Papyrus’ jaw with his thumb. “You’ll be fine, Papyrus. You’re just hungry.”

“n- _no,_ ” Papyrus said, frustrated. “i’m not—i should be _dead._ ”

He felt Asgore’s grip on him relax slightly, before the great monster released a tired sigh. He turned Papyrus over, holding his gaze steadily. “You’re not dead. You’re in transition.”

“t-transition…?”

“You’re becoming a vampire, Papyrus—just like me.” Asgore smiled, as if Papyrus ought to be thrilled by the fact. He leaned in and touched his lips to Papyrus’ forehead in a soft kiss.

But Papyrus was frozen. His soul—his _dead_ soul—was cold with dread. He could feel himself shaking, and again, his chest clenched painfully, reminding him how hungry he was. He couldn’t move or speak—couldn’t _breathe_ (did he even _need_ to breathe now?).

When Asgore carefully lifted him into a sitting position, Papyrus let him. He didn’t react as Asgore began to dress him in fresh clothing—far too big on him, but it was hardly important. Even when Asgore’s fingers grazed his pelvis, Papyrus barely flinched.

Everything hurt. His head, his bones, his soul—dull, burning pain scorched his entire body. A sick, churning feeling ignited in his chest as Asgore pressed their mouths together, running his tongue along Papyrus’ clenched teeth (Papyrus could feel a strange twinge in his canines—a sort of itch). “Come. Let’s find you someone to eat,” Asgore said at last, taking Papyrus’ hand and guiding him off the bed. When Papyrus didn’t move, Asgore turned, offering him a consolatory smile. “There’s no need to be afraid, Papyrus. You’ve been reborn—today marks the first day of the rest of your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: graphic vaginal rape, implied vaginal tearing, vaginal bleeding, very painful sex, non-consensual biting and feeding, non-consensual kissing and touching, "drugging" (with venom), lots of "blood" (magic), temporarily paralysed victim.
> 
> Please let me know if I've missed anything! I've tried to include as much as possible, but the last thing I want to do is upset anyone--especially when it comes to something like this.


	2. In Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stop. Breathe. Think. You're strong. You're in control._
> 
> Although Papyrus is back with his brother, the years following his transformation aren't easy--especially when the Queen has taken in interest in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does not contain non-con and can act as a standalone from chapter 1. (It is also more relevant to the plot of Argent Night, and might help give a better understanding of Rus's background for anyone who's curious, but it is not required reading).
> 
> **There are still some uncomfortable themes in this chapter however. Warnings are in the endnotes.**

“Papy? May I come in?”

Papyrus glanced up at his brother wearily. Sans stood on the threshold of his bedroom door, holding a tray containing an assortment of foods. Papyrus could smell them in the air—they made his chest clench sickeningly. “sure, sans,” he mumbled, pressing his cheekbone back against the wall. The cold plaster did little to alleviate the dull burn in his bones, but pretending made it easier, somehow.

Sans approached his bed cautiously, his steps slow and calculated. He made sure not to take his eyes off Papyrus as he turned to place the tray of food on his desk. “Would you like anything to eat, Papyrus?” he asked, quietly.

“no, thank you,” Papyrus muttered.

Sans frowned, sitting on the bed beside him. “I put magic in it,” Sans told him, his voice soft.

An uncomfortable lurch rose in Papyrus’ chest, and he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. A small whine built in his throat as the light scent of magic filled his nasal cavity. “n-no, i don’t want it,” he managed to choke.

Sans sighed heavily. “Papyrus…” He placed a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder, but drew away quickly when Papyrus flinched. “It’s been three days since you last ate. I don’t think you should be… starving yourself.” Sans’ voice trailed off into silence. Papyrus wasn’t looking at him, but he could sense how tired he was just from his tone of voice. Guilt prickled at him, and he swallowed.

“i-i’m sorry, sans,” he whispered, the sound almost choked. “i’m trying t-to be good. but—” His voice broke on a sob. “it _hurts,_ sans. it hurts so much—i’m so hungry, but i… i’ll lose control a-again. i’ll—”

“Come here, Papy,” Sans whispered, his voice gentle and soothing. Papyrus looked at his brother, blinking the tears from his eyes. Sans was smiling, though the expression was faint. Papyrus allowed Sans to wrap his arms around him, and he buried his head against Sans’ shoulder. “Remember what I told you? Stop. Breathe. Think. Listen to my voice… Papyrus?”

Papyrus inhaled, his breath stuttering. “s-sans—i don’t know if i can—”

“You _can,_ Papyrus,” Sans said firmly, pulling him closer. “Now breathe—that’s it, deeply. Close your eyes, focus on my voice.”

Papyrus did as he was bid, his sockets drifting shut slowly. He leaned against Sans’ shoulder and inhaled. The scent of his brother’s magic flooded his nasal cavity, and he twitched, whimpering. “It’s okay, Papyrus,” Sans whispered, smoothing his hand down Papyrus’ spine. “I know you’re not going to lose control. You’re strong, Papy. I know you are.”

Instinct urged Papyrus to protest. _i’m not strong,_ he wanted to say. _i’m not in control. i can’t do this._ He held his breath and clung to Sans, listening to his words, trying to focus on them. He allowed them to drown out his thoughts. Hunger itched in his bones, his canines tingling and his soul burning as it begged him for magic. “Control it, Papyrus,” Sans murmured. “Listen to my voice—don’t think about it. You’re here, in your room. You’re with me. You’re not going to hurt anyone, are you, Papy?” Sans hushed him, stroking his coronal suture.

A faint sob built in Papyrus’ throat and he shook his head. “Good boy,” Sans whispered.

He held Papyrus there, his soft caresses gentle and unceasing. When Papyrus felt the itch and burn of hunger re-emerging, Sans soothed him with gentle whispers and sturdier touches—as if he knew. As if he too, could feel the ache.

When Papyrus had settled into a half-daze, Sans slowly drew away, meeting his gaze. “Now, why don’t you have something to eat?” he asked, reaching for the tray on the desk. “Just a little—I know you can. You’re in control.”

Papyrus tore a small piece off one of the cakes Sans had made him. He could taste the fresh magic before he’d bitten into it. And when he did, it flooded his mouth and his soul pulsed with satisfaction as the warm trickle reached it.

He didn’t ask Sans who the source was.

Papyrus managed to finish the entire cake. Though it hadn’t been a particularly large cake, Sans looked pleased with him, smiling. “Good boy, Papyrus,” he cooed, stroking the back of his skull. “Well done. You’re getting better every day.”

Papyrus looked at the tray, his fingers twitching where he had them curled around the bedsheets. “s-sans. please… take it away.”

Sans watched him for a few moments, gauging him carefully before nodding. Papyrus felt himself relaxing considerably with the food gone, but his hands still shook. Sans took a hold of them when he sat back down, keeping them steady. “The Queen is visiting today,” he told Papyrus, levelling him with a look that held a discomforting weight to it.

Papyrus tried not to let his dismay show—but given Sans’ dull sigh, he knew he must not have done a very good job. “It’s important, Papy. She has business with us—with you.” Papyrus took little comfort from that news, but he knew any protests would fall on deaf ears. The Queen got what the Queen wanted. “Will you be good for her, Papyrus?” Sans asked, stroking his fingers over the back of Papyrus’ hands. “I know you’ll be good. You’ve improved so much. You’ll be such a good boy for her, won’t you?”

Papyrus could only nod. “yes,” he said, faintly. “i’ll be good.”

 

Papyrus sat patiently on the sofa as Sans greeted the Queen at the front door. He remained silent when she entered, keeping his hands folded neatly on his lap and sitting up straight. He smiled at her as she approached, dipping his head respectfully. “your majesty,” he greeted.

She offered him a nod while Sans hurried to pull out an armchair for her. She sat down slowly, her eyes not leaving Papyrus. “He looks a lot better than he did the last time I visited,” she said to Sans.

“He improves every day,” Sans replied, placing his hand on Papyrus’ arm as he sat beside him. “I’ve been training him to control himself around magic.”

The Queen nodded, her eyes narrowing as she looked over Papyrus. “And have you been feeding him enough? He looks thinner.”

“He…” Sans swallowed, glancing up at Papyrus. His hand didn’t leave Papyrus’ arm, but his grip grew tighter. “He doesn’t like eating. It makes it difficult for him to control—”

“Papyrus,” the Queen said sternly, cutting Sans off. Papyrus dropped his gaze and began to tremble beneath the Queen’s cool stare. “Papyrus—look at me.”

“Papy…” Sans whispered, his fingers brushing over Papyrus’ arm softly. “Remember what we spoke about?” Quivering, Papyrus glanced at Sans. His blue eyes were bright, but firm.

_Breathe. Focus on my voice._

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to look at the Queen. “yes?” His voice emerged softer than dust scattering in the wind, but the Queen seemed satisfied now that she had his attention.

“You’re a vampire,” she reminded him, her voice uncannily impassive—even when Papyrus flinched at the word. “You need to feed on magic. It’s part of who you are now, do you understand?”

A soft whimper built in Papyrus’ throat, and tears began to prickle at his eye sockets. He squeezed them shut and shook his head. “Papyrus.” The Queen’s voice grew sterner, impatience slipping into her tone.

“Papy,” Sans murmured, squeezing Papyrus’ hand. “It’s alright. You’re strong, remember?”

_I know you’re not going to lose control. You’re strong, Papy. I know you are._

Papyrus wiped the tears from his eye sockets with the back of his sleeve, breathing deeply for a few moments before looking back up at the Queen. Her expression remained unsettling in its apathy. Once she seemed satisfied that he wasn’t going to break down again, she said, “We need to keep you healthy. I have a very important job for you, and it requires you to be at the height of your strength.” Looking at Sans, she asked, “How much magic have you been feeding him?”

“A few ounces every day or two,” Sans replied. “Served with normal food.”

The Queen frowned at this. “You haven’t been feeding him raw magic?” she asked, sounding displeased.

“Well—no.” Sans looked puzzled, his brow-bone creasing. “He isn’t ready for that yet.”

The Queen hummed and her eyes wandered back to Papyrus, who shifted in discomfort beneath her scrutiny. “He needs to be,” she stated. “I was hoping to bring him back to the Capital with me today.”

Papyrus felt Sans go stiff at his side, his grasp around Papyrus’ wrist tightening—almost painfully so. “T-today?” Sans inhaled crisply, shaking his head and offering the Queen a smile. It looked very forced. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, he isn’t ready for—for _that,_ yet.” Sans’ eye-lights flickered to Papyrus, suddenly anxious. “He needs more time.”

“We don’t have time,” the Queen said, her impatience apparent. “He should have been on raw magic weeks ago. I _need_ him, Sans.” Papyrus felt himself withering as the Queen turned to him, her expression softening a little as she surveyed his face. “Papyrus,” she said, gently. “I have a very important job for you in the Capital. Will you help me, Papyrus? It’s something I can only entrust to you.”

“Your Majesty.” Sans’ voice was clipped, a strained tightness to his tone. “This isn’t—”

“This is your brother’s decision, Sans,” the Queen said coolly, her eyes not even straying to Sans. “Papyrus? Will you do this for me? For your Queen.”

Papyrus swallowed, the burn of hunger flickering somewhere in the depths of his soul. Sans stiffened beside him, touching his arm and stroking his fingers deftly over the bone through his clothes.

_Stop. Breathe. Think._

Papyrus inhaled, his breath shaking slightly as he did, and nodded. “yes,” he said, quietly. “i-i’ll do it.”

The Queen looked relieved, her smile turning a little more genuine. “Thank you, Papyrus.”

Papyrus tried not to shudder. Beside him, he felt Sans’ grasp loosen. He was disappointed with Papyrus—a thought that left a dull ache in Papyrus’ chest that had nothing to do with hunger.

 

The Queen remained with them until sundown, after which they left for the Capital. The steady clop of the horses’ hooves outside the carriage lulled Papyrus into a dull state of mind. He dozed with his head against the window frame until he felt Sans gently shaking him awake. “We’re here, Papy,” he whispered, climbing from the carriage and onto the clean stone pavement of the street. Cautiously, Papyrus followed in his wake.

The Queen’s guards led them up to the castle doors. Papyrus couldn’t help but gape when they reached the interior of the palace. He’d never visited the Capital before—let alone the Queen’s castle itself. The lavish halls were spotless and Papyrus could see his reflection in most of the polished marble floors. The silk curtains were adorned with golden chains, and the windows were made of the purest blue stained glass.

They came to a halt outside a set of large double doors, embellished with the royal crest. Down a small side-passage, Papyrus caught a glimpse of a long line of monsters dressed in dirty rags—or worse. Many of them were hunched over, their arms wrapped around themselves or their hands clasped together. A few were muttering indiscernibly to themselves, while others were openly wailing. The guards patrolling the passage would occasionally use their weapons to push any stray monsters back in line. Papyrus quickly looked away, gripping onto Sans’ arm.

Sans patted his shoulder gently, leading him through the double doors after the Queen. They arrived in a large, open hall, even more striking than the rest of the palace. Shards of colourful light glittered from the crystal chandelier which hung from the ceiling high above, and their footsteps echoed off the walls. Papyrus suddenly felt very small.

Most notably, of course, was the throne atop the dais at the head of the room. Simple, and made of pure silver, it glinted beneath the light of the chandelier and candelabras around the room. Papyrus gazed at it as they crossed the room, almost entranced. The Queen sat down and beckoned for Papyrus and Sans to stand before her. Sans kneeled, so Papyrus followed suit. “There is no need for that,” the Queen told them, waving her hand. “Rise.”

Papyrus climbed slowly to his feet, finding it difficult to meet the Queen’s gaze. She looked mighty on her throne, the almost blinding silver capturing her air of both splendour and strength. She waved to one of her guards over Papyrus’ shoulder, and he turned to see them opening the doors again.

One of the guards who had been patrolling outside entered, dragging a grimy, whimpering monster behind him. Papyrus immediately recognised it as one of the creatures who had been lined up in the corridor. The monster kicked and fought and screamed, but its struggles were weak against the guard’s tight grip.

Papyrus nudged Sans, suddenly anxious. “s-sans, what’s happening?” he whispered.

Sans looked tense, his face creased with worry. “It’s okay, Papy,” he murmured, his eyes not leaving the struggling monster. “Just—just try to remember, this monster is a criminal. It has committed crimes against our Queen. It’s not… i-important.” Sans’ voice shook, and Papyrus could tell he was lying.

Frantically, he looked up at the Queen, but her expression was sternly emotionless. As the bedraggled monster was tossed to the floor at her feet, she gave her guards a nod, and they swiftly left the room. The large hall felt suddenly empty and desolate. Papyrus wrapped his arms around himself. The familiar burn of hunger rose in his chest and he pressed his teeth together. In his dread, he’d forgotten to hold onto control.

“s-sans,” he whimpered, tugging on his brother’s sleeve. But Sans was watching the Queen, earnestly ignoring Papyrus. His jaw was tight and set.

“Papyrus.” The Queen’s cold voice drew Papyrus’ attention. “This is where we require your assistance.” Her gaze flickered to the dirty, quivering monster at her feet, then back to Papyrus. “You are the only one of your kind—but we do not wish for it to remain that way.”

Papyrus stilled, his soul going cold. Staring at the monster on the ground before him, he shook his head, hugging himself tighter.

“We need you to turn them,” the Queen said, confirming Papyrus’ dark suspicions. “We need you to create more vampires.”

Papyrus was rocking back and forth now, squeezing his eye sockets closed against the panicked tears. Desperately, he looked to his brother—but Sans’ face was a mask of detachment, and he wasn’t looking at Papyrus. “p-please, your majesty,” Papyrus sobbed, “i—i _can’t—_ ”

“You _must,_ ” the Queen responded, harshly. “There is no other way to revive your kind. We need you to do this.”

Papyrus’ whole body shook—he could hear the rattling of his bones as the clacked together. His chest was constricting around his soul, stifling his breath, and his head felt cloudy. Dropping to his knees, he clung to himself, sobbing freely. The world around him felt as if it were spinning.

His soul was on fire, hunger searing his bones.

“Papy? Papy, it’s alright.” Sans was crouching beside him, but Papyrus could barely feel his hands on his arms—or hear the words that he was whispering.

_You’re not in control. You can’t do this. You’re weak._

Papyrus welcomed the darkness that swallowed him.

 

****

 

“It’s—it’s alright, Papy. It’s not your fault.”

Papyrus stared in horror at his shaking hands. Translucent green magic clung to the tips of his fingers… along with dust. Dust—scattered over the floor before him, clinging to his clothes, his hands, his teeth. He could still taste the hot magic in his throat, and feel it churning in his soul. So warm and thick and revitalising.

“He hasn’t gained any LV from the monsters he’s dusted,” the Queen remarked, observing Papyrus curiously.

Papyrus let out a choked whimper, clinging to himself. Sans wrapped an arm around his shoulders, casting the Queen a stern look. “It’s not your fault,” Sans repeated, stroking Papyrus’ cervical vertebrae. “Listen to me, Papy. Listen to my voice.” He tucked Papyrus’ head against his shoulder, remnants of the dead monster’s magic from Papyrus’ teeth staining his white shirt. He seemed not to notice or care though, hushing Papyrus gently. “You’re getting better, Papy. You almost did it that time.”

The Queen hummed in frustration, surveying the scattering dust disdainfully. “He’s been doing this for weeks and has yet to successfully feed on a monster’s soul without dusting them,” she said.

“He’ll get there,” Sans snapped, his arms tightening around Papyrus. “Give him time.”

“I have,” the Queen said, shortly.

“This isn’t something you can force,” Sans told her. “He’s under pressure. He’s anxious, he’s tense. We need to be _patient._ ”

“My patience is wearing thin, Sans,” the Queen said, her voice tight. “Do what you must with him—but I need results, and so far, he has not produced them.” She swept away, leaving Papyrus shaking in Sans’ arms.

Sighing, Sans bundled his brother closer, whispering softly to him and running his fingers over the back of his skull. “Deep breaths, Papy. It’s okay. We’re not going to do anymore today. We’ll try again tomorrow, okay?”

Papyrus shook his head, his breaths hitching. “sans, i—” He choked, clutching to his brother. “i _can’t._ ”

“Yes, you can,” Sans told him, firmly. “You’re getting better. You’re strong. You’re in control, remember? _Listen_ to me, Papyrus.” Sans drew away to hold Papyrus at arm’s length, meeting his eye. Papyrus tried to avert his gaze, his face wet with tears and the spent magic of the dead monster. But Sans held him firmly, gripping his chin. “You _need_ to do this—and I know you can. I _know._ ” His blue eye-lights were fierce and determined. “Don’t give up, Papyrus—don’t you dare. I know you can get through this. Do you understand me?”

Papyrus shook with his sobs, but let Sans pull him back into his arms, falling limp. “Remember,” Sans murmured against his acoustic meatus, “stop. Breathe. Think. Don’t give up. Don’t let go. You’re in control. You’re strong.”

Papyrus let the words wash over him until his sobbing subsided, his breaths calmed, and the dull burn in his soul eased. He pressed his head against Sans’ chest, shuddering as the smell of his brother’s magic hit him.

But he pushed against the urge. He buried the hunger. He _breathed._

_You’re in control._

****

 

Hastily pressing the monster’s (empty) soul back into their chest, Papyrus carefully lowered the unconscious creature to the ground, his hands trembling. His soul fluttered vibrantly in his chest, warm and filled to the brim with glistening magic.

Sans was staring at him, sockets wide and teeth parted in awe. “Papyrus… you…” He looked at Papyrus for a few seconds before leaning forward and hugging him tightly. “Well done, Papy. Well _done._ ”

Even the Queen looked impressed, something akin to a smile twitching at one of the corners of her stern mouth. She hummed, nodding. “Good work, Papyrus. What’s the next step in the transformation?”

Sans frowned up at her, but remained silent. Swallowing back the taste of the monster’s fresh magic, Papyrus said, “they need to f-feed on magic when they wake up.”

Nodding, the Queen called for her guard. “Find somewhere secure to contain this creature until it awakens—then find a candidate for it to feed from.” The guards looked momentarily puzzled, but upon receiving a firm look from the Queen, they nodded, lifting the ( ~~dead~~ ) monster from the ground and hurrying off. Once they’d left, the Queen turned back to Papyrus. “Shall we begin on the next one, then?”

 

Later that night, as Papyrus was heading to his chambers, he heard the hushed voices of his brother and the Queen as he passed the Queen’s quarters. He peered through the half-cracked door. Sans was sitting in front of the Queen, who had her quill to the parchment spread across the desk in front of her.

“… not everyone will approve of this, I’m sure you understand?” the Queen was saying.

“Yes,” Sans agreed, sounding thoughtful. “What do you propose we do then?”

“We’ll need a viable cover for the business,” the Queen replied. She paused her writing for a few moments, her brows furrowed as she considered. “Something that allows us to continue the transformations in secret.”

Papyrus froze, his chest clenching uncomfortably. Something sick bubbled beneath the surface, and he swallowed, leaning closer to listen.

“A bordello?” Sans suggested. “It would provide a suitable location for the practice, and the cover is perfect.”

The Queen nodded slowly. “Yes… it would, I suppose. But I do not trust the brothel-keepers present in the Capital—nor Hotland, for that matter. I cannot allow them to have any part of this business.”

“I could handle the affairs,” Sans said. “It would make it easier on Papyrus too, having me there with him. And I have experience in this matter.”

The Queen considered for a few moments, surveying Sans. “Yes, I suppose you do… Very well,” she said, returning to her writing. “I will take it under advisement. In the meantime, we will have to keep training your brother—and any new potential creators he manages to turn. We will need to start bringing in more refined creatures, now that we can be sure he won’t dust them…”

Desperate not to hear anymore, Papyrus turned away and raced up the stairs. Tears streaked down his face, and once again, his soul felt as if it were on fire. When he reached his room, he slumped against the door, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face in his hands.

He sobbed freely, panic and terror holding his soul in a vicelike grip. His breaths hitched and he choked on a whimper as the hot ache of hunger began to build within him—earnest, despite the fact that he’d more than drunk his fill earlier that day.

_Stop._

Papyrus curled in on himself, trying to reign in his appetite. He squeezed his shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into the bone until it was painful.

_Breathe._

He gasped for air, inhaling shakily. The frantic hammering of his soul gradually began to slow, the searing fire dulling to an unpleasant itch.

_Think._

“you’re i-in control,” Papyrus whispered to himself, closing his eyes. “you’re—s-strong.” His voice cracked on the word, but he pressed on, his breathing becoming steadier. “don’t let go. listen…” A broken whine built in Papyrus’ throat and he pressed his hand over his mouth, tipping his head back against the door and closing his eyes, letting the tears fall.

“you’re in c-control,” he whispered, muffled by his hand. “you’re in control,” he repeated, with more conviction. “you’re in control, you’re in control, you’re in control.” Papyrus said the words—over and over like a mantra.

Until at last, they began to sink in.

 

****

 

Papyrus gazed at his reflection in his polished mirror, sighing deeply. Busy nights were nice. They left his bones looking healthy and gleaming, as well as adding a pale tinge of gold to his cheekbones that almost allowed him to pass as a mortal monster.

His fangs—which had grown longer over the years—had been filed down to an acute point sharper than what was natural of them. _It sells better,_ Sans would tell him. _Monsters come here for a vampire, so we need to give them a vampire._

Papyrus didn’t mind it, really. It was a lot easier now than it had been a decade ago—when he had been virtually the only vampire capable of ‘transformation packages’, as they were called. Every night had been a stream of feedings, and he’d often been forced to take in an overwhelming amount of magic. There were more of his kind now—and more who worked here with him, feeding on clients, or turning them, depending upon the request.

Papyrus’ eye-lights were a deep, rich gold tonight—the sign of a healthy intake of magic. On some nights—at the coldest times of winter when monsters would prefer to return home to their families than lose themselves in the arms of some whore; or during the months when the harvest was poor and few could afford the luxury of a brothel—his eyes would deepen to a darker shade of amber. And on the worst days (or during the worst weeks) they would become a startling crimson—frightening, even to Papyrus himself. Those days were few and far between, a fact he was thankful for.

A knock on the door drew his gaze away from the mirror. “a moment!” he called, hurrying to neaten his appearance and tidy his quarters. When he was ready, the door opened and a large, horned monster with long, shaggy fur entered. Sans hovered behind it, greeting Papyrus with a nod.

“Regular package,” Sans told him, and Papyrus slumped with relief.

“thank you, sans,” he said. Once his brother had left, he turned to the monster. It towered above him, large and mighty. Its brown eyes wandered his figure, and he smiled gently, approaching it. “first time?” he asked, brushing his fingers over its arm.

It grunted roughly in response, before crouching down to lift him and carry him over to the bed, where it gently lay him on his back. It bent over him, pushing back its matted fur to present its neck to him. Small, fading puncture wounds littered its skin. Papyrus smiled to himself. Not a first-timer then.

It groaned gutturally when Papyrus sank his fangs into its flesh, folding its arms beneath him and holding him against it. Papyrus drank slowly, allowing the creature to savour the feeling. His soul glowed warmly where it hovered as the creature’s magic gushed into it, settling in with that of his earlier clients.

When he withdrew, the monster wasted no time tearing away his garments (scarce though they were). He gasped as it entered him, licking gently at the still-leaking wound at its neck. He lay back as it began to pound into him, supplying the occasional moan or whisper of encouragement. When the monster was done with him it tugged its pants back over its softening erection and left the room.

Papyrus lay still for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of his meal. His soul pulsed pleasantly with warmth and his bones felt light and unburdened. The tingle of magic coursed his body, settling into the crevices and nodes of his bones.

The night continued with a stream of ‘regular packages’. A few monsters would remain for the full hour—using him for every minute they’d paid for—while others would take their pleasure from him and depart immediately. By the time the first glimmers of daylight had begun to touch the sky outside his window, Papyrus’ body was flushed with the magic of strangers.

Sans entered with Papyrus’ final customer for the night—an aquatic monster with sleek orange scales. “Transformation package,” Sans told him, holding his gaze for a few extra seconds before leaving.

Steeling himself, Papyrus breathed in deeply and turned to the monster, forcing himself to present it with his typical smile. “you’re certain this is what you want?” he asked, holding its eye steadily.

“’Course I am,” the monster said, scoffing. “’m here, ain’t I?”

Papyrus nodded, approaching it slowly and placing a hand on one of its fins, stroking its scales with care. “good. i wanted to be sure.” He guided the monster to the bed, his hands not ceasing their soft caresses as they sat down. “lie back,” he instructed, and the monster obliged. He knelt over it, running his hands down its torso and huffing cool breaths over its scales. It shuddered beneath him, closing its eyes. “that’s it, relax,” Papyrus murmured, moving his hand to the centre of its chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before saying, “summon your soul for me now—if you will.”

The monster obeyed without hesitation, the deep orange organ rising to hover above its chest. Even after all these years, the sight of another monster’s soul was enough to ignite a burn of hot, hungry desire in Papyrus—no matter how well-fed he was.

_Stop. Breathe. Think._

He clasped the monster’s soul carefully with both hands, glancing at it. “is this alright?” he whispered. His self-restraint was rapidly diminishing, the cloying scent of the creature’s soul flooding his senses.

_You’re strong._

He was grateful when it nodded silently, its eyes still shut. Without further hesitation, he sank his fangs into the supple organ. Magic gushed into his mouth and his own summoned soul, and the monster gasped beneath him, twitching.

_You’re in control._

Papyrus watched it as he drank, searching for any sign of protest. When none came, he deepened his bite, losing himself in the sensation of hot magic— _real_ magic—flowing through him.

_You’re in control._

His mind threatened to surrender itself to the euphoria of the creature’s magic, his soul igniting with the urge to deepen his drink.

**_You’re in control._ **

But Papyrus clung to restraint, steadying himself. With the final remaining ounce of his strength, he managed to pry the soul away from his mouth, a single drop of magic remaining in its depths. As his own soul sunk back into his chest, he hastily returned the now undead monster’s to its limp body and climbed off the bed, moving to sit in front of the window in wait until it awoke.

The glimmers of sunlight breaking over the horizon stung his eyes, but he breathed deeply, basking in what little of the rays his body could withstand. “you’re in control,” he whispered to himself, closing his eyes. “you’re strong. you’re in control. you’re strong. you’re in control. you’re in control. _you’re in control._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Eating disorders, panic attacks, death of unnamed side-characters (non-graphic), coerced feeding, non-consensual feeding (for both involved parties), prostitution (consensual). As always, please let me know if I've missed anything!


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